from her medical work to apprise her of the fact.

"You had better wear that pretty black lace dress, and here are some
crimson roses for you," she said. "I bought them at the florist's round
the corner; they will suit you very well. But I wish you would not lose
all your colour. You certainly look quite fagged out."

"On the contrary, I am not the least bit tired," said Florence. "I am
glad I am going. I have finished the story for your brother and can post
it first. I have had a hard day's work, Edith, and deserve a little bit
of fun to-night."

"Now that I look at you, you don't seem as tired as usual," said Edith;
"that is right. Tom was vexed last night. He says you work so hard that
you are quite stupid in society. Try and allow people to draw you out.
If you make even one or two of those pretty little epigrammatic speeches
with which your writing is full, you will get yourself talked of more
than ever. I presume, writing the sort of things you do, that you are
going in for fame, and fame alone. Well, my dear, at least so live that
you may obtain that for which you are selling yourself."

"I am not selling myself. How dare you?" said Florence. Her whole manner
was new; she had ceased to depreciate herself.

Edith left her, and Florence went into her bed-room and carefully made
her toilet. Her eyes were soft as well as bright. The dress she wore
suited her well; there was a flush of becoming colour in her cheeks. She
joined Edith just as Franks drove up in his brougham. He ran upstairs,
and was pleased to see that the two girls were ready.

"Come, that is nice," he said, gazing at Florence with an increased
beating of his heart. He said to himself: "She is absolutely handsome.
She would suit me admirably as a wife. I may propose to her to-night if
I have the chance."

He gave his arm to Florence with a certain chivalry which was by no
means habitual to him, and the two girls and Franks went downstairs.

"There is to be a bit of a crush," he said, looking at Florence; "and,
by the way, did I tell you who was to be present? You saw him to-day:
Maurice Trevor. He is a great friend of Mrs. Simpson's, and he and his
mother have been invited."

Florence's hand was still on Franks's arm when he spoke, and as he
uttered the words "Maurice Trevor" she gave that arm an involuntary
grip. He felt the grip, and a queer sensation went through him. He could
not look into her face, but his suspicions were aroused. Why ha